asylum
by mikazukidreams
Summary: We're not normal. For SS month 2016— prompt 02: asylum


**Prompt** **02:** asylum / horror  
 **Pairings:** Sasuke/Sakura; hints of Shikamaru/Ino  
 **Warning(s):** AU  
 **Summary:** We're not normal.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Naruto._

* * *

 **asylum**

.

.

.

 _The beginning._

 _._

 _._

Sakura is eight years old when she realizes she isn't quite like the other kids in her lively neighbourhood. Although she has soft hair the colour of cherry blossoms and vibrant eyes the colour of dazzling emerald, it is not her physical appearance that permanently sets a divide between her and her friends.

It is during a game of tag—she runs like the wind, giggling as Ryuto closes in behind her—that she stumbles and falls down hard onto concrete. Her knees scrape against the rough ground; her skin peeling as blood starts oozing out. She fights back tears that threaten to spill as the pain hits her, a burning sensation that crawls up her leg slowly.

"Ew," Ryuto says, scrunching up his nose. He kneels beside her and observes her wound. "Are you okay?"

Sakura wants to cry, but she doesn't—it has been a couple years since she promised herself that she would not show her tears in front of her friends anymore. Even though Ryuto is her good friend, the scarring image of Ami towering over her in the girls' washroom, clenching her pink locks in her hand, never leaves her.

"It's fine," she manages to stutter out, as the rest of her friends rush over to see what the commotion is about. The young rosette stands up, stumbling slightly, and giving her friends a brave smile she says, "You guys keep playing. I should probably go home and wash this cut out. Mother said that it would get infected this way." Haruno Mebuki is a nurse at the local hospital in Konoha, and Sakura aspires to be like her mother.

The children look at each other and giving a small nod in mutual agreement, Ryuto turns and says, "Alright. I hope your cut gets better!" He smiles, a crooked smile that flashes his dimple, and tugs Sakura into a hug. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Sakura smiles tentatively as she wraps her small arms around the brown-haired boy. "Yeah! See you tomorrow," she says before letting go. With a final wave, she turns and heads back to her spacious three-storey home in the quiet cul-de-sac.

Little does she know that tomorrow won't come.

* * *

 _The fall._

 _._

 _._

On her way home, her injured leg starts tingling, a cooling sensation seeping under her skin. It's a relaxing feeling that soothes her previous agitation—but all the same, it confuses her. Just moments earlier the cut had been burning as if it were on fire, but now it seems as if someone dipped cool alcohol on her wound, minus the stinging. There's a strange green aura around her leg that startles her—she needs to get home _now._

"Mother?" she calls as she opens the front door. Her mother usually got off work earlier than her father, but some nights Mebuki is called into the hospital to care for her unstable patients.

Today, however, is one of those nights that Mebuki is home. The pungent smell of mapo dofu fills Sakura's senses and her stomach grumbles in anticipation for a good meal.

"I'm in the kitchen," Mebuki replies in her soft yet firm voice. " You're back early; is everything alright?"

Sakura had been so focused on the delicious smell of food that she'd forgotten about her injury momentarily—but at her mother's concerned voice, she walks into the kitchen and props up her wounded knee. "I was playing tag today and accidently tripped," she starts, "and I ended up—" She cuts off shortly, openly gaping at the result of her fall.

The flaky bits of torn skin, the raw redness of her exposed flesh and blood from her scrapped knee has disappeared; in its place is nothing but smooth, porcelain skin with only a minor jagged line to indicate scarring. Her muscles feel like they have been gently soothed and she has to forcibly trace the scar on her knee to confirm that yes, it did happen, and yes, it is _healed._

"—falling," she finishes. "Mother, where did my injury go?"

She expects her mother to say something like, _oh, don't be silly! It probably wasn't too bad_ but when she lifts her head to see her mother's reaction, she is left speechless.

Mebuki's normally pleasant face is drained of all colour, and her hazel eyes—which were usually warm and welcoming—are hard and full of…fear? "We need to call your father right away," she says sharply instead, rushing to the phone. Sakura hears her mother mutter something under her breath, but doesn't quite catch it all except for the words "not yet" and "it can't be".

-x-

Her father arrives home earlier than he ever has, and he doesn't look any calmer than Mebuki. His sandy hair is tousled as if he'd run his hands through it multiple times in stress, and his typically impeccable research lab coat is buttoned carelessly.

They eat dinner is tense silence before Mebuki sends her off to bed, with a hug that lingers too long and with a quick kiss from her father. Sakura knows that something is definitely wrong, because mother usually didn't allow her to sleep after such a big meal. "It's not good for your health," she'd say, every time Sakura whined. "You need to exercise a bit before sleeping."

There are knots in her stomach as she lies down, her gut warning her of unforeseen danger. Unable to sleep, Sakura creeps out of bed and crouches by her darkened door, attempting to piece together snippets of her parents' hushed conversation from the kitchen below.

"—we can't stay here," Mebuki is saying urgently. "He'll find her and I won't allow that."

"It would look too suspicious if we leave so abruptly," Kizashi argues. Both of her parents are looking anxiously towards the windows as they speak, and Sakura's curiosity peaks. It's very clear they're talking about things that are crucially important and about _her;_ but it is something that they refuse to speak of in her presence.

"W-what are we supposed to do? Do you not remember Kushina's child? And Mikoto's children," Mebuki nearly wails. "I cannot lose her, Kizashi!"

From the shadows, Sakura can see the worry creasing her father's normally composed features as he wraps an arm around her mother in comfort. "Rest well tonight," he says, quiet but determined. "We will think of our course of action tomorrow morning."

Her mother nods reluctantly, leaning into Kizashi's strong figure for support.

Sakura stumbles back into her room, green eyes wide with anxiety and fear. Her breath is coming out in shallow pants and she worries that she might be having a panic attack.

Something is _wrong._

She crawls back into bed and pulls the covers over her head—this had always made her feel safe, like it was a cage protecting her from demons and monsters that could be lurking in her bedroom. However, she doesn't feel the usual lull of slumber that overcomes her.

There's that word again— _tomorrow._ So easily promised.

-x-

Sakura is jolted awake by the blaring fire alarm. The strong smell of smoke chokes her, bringing tears to her eyes as she pushes the covers back and leaps out of bed. The hallway outside her room is engulfed in raging flames, swirling and ominous, but her adrenaline overrules her hesitance as she bolts down the stairs.

"Sakura!"

The young girl whips her head around at her mother's voice in their living room—cautious of fallen wood that splinters and crashes onto the once pristine tile floor.

"Sakura, _run!_ "

There's sheer terror laced in her mother's voice as Mebuki cries out hoarsely; Kizashi's booming voice also rings out through the smoke. Sakura can't see them, can't see her loving parents, but how can she leave them like this? Trapped in smoke, cornered by flaming bits of their beautiful home?

She waves the smoke out of her face and ignores the sting of dust in her eyes that blur her vision. Coughing but moving forward, she sees the figure of her parents crouched down on the ground—why are they kneeling? —but before she can react, to put together this strange night, a chilling voice slices through the chaos.

"You're quite a lovely little girl."

Whipping her head around, she sees a tall figure with a grayish complexion and golden eyes. His lips are tilted in a nasty sneer, as if he was enjoying a personal joke, and his golden orbs are settled on her. Sakura feels a spike of fear in her chest and she stumbles backwards to get away, but another figure emerges—this one with gray hair and round glasses—and snatches her by the arm.

" _Don't you dare touch my daughter!"_ Mebuki screams through the smoke, just as Kizashi seethes,

"You won't live long enough to regret this."

"Ah, ah, ah," the gray man says, "You're quite mistaken. I think _you_ won't be the one to live."

"Run!" Mebuki yells, but Sakura's feet feel like lead and her heart is hammering against her ribcage almost painfully. She yanks her arm to free it, but the man holding her jerks her arm back roughly, sneering at her obvious displeasure.

"We'll be taking her now," the gray man says, casually, as if he hadn't just shattered her world, as if she _belonged_ to him. "She's a lovely girl. I can't wait to see what she's capable of."

Mebuki snarls, a feral snarl, as she replies back, "You won't take her from me." Calling out to her daughter, she says, "Don't worry. Your father and I will always be there with you."

There are tears spilling down Sakura's cheeks and she is so confused and in pain as the world is ripped out and burned right before her very eyes. She struggles against the man's grip—which feels like steel clamped around her slender limb—and she only stops fighting when the glasses man releases a sigh of annoyance and plunges a needle in her neck.

As her vision blurs and the sound of her parents' wailing drowns out to blackness, Sakura remembers a playful chant she used to sing with the neighbourhood kids when they were really young. They'd danced around in the school playground and Ryuto had taught her the words—

— _ashes, ashes,_

 _...we all fall down._

* * *

 _The beginning of the end._

 _._

 _._

When she wakes up, she's lying in a heap on the dirty floor of a jail-like cell. She feels as if she's enclosed in a cage, and pinches herself to _wake up, this is a dream._ Her head is pounding and she feels disoriented as she sits up, nearly throwing up the food her mother made earlier.

 _Mother,_ she thinks, horrified. _Father_. _The house._

 _Where am I?_

"Hey," a cheerful voice interrupts her thoughts. She turns her head at the sound and is surprised to see a blond boy, around her age, sitting in the next cell on the right. His hair is matted and his face is covered in dirt and there are metal cuffs on each of his wrists and a strange round contraption strapped to his stomach, but still he smiles at her brightly. "Are you hurt?"

For a moment she struggles to find her voice, but she manages to cough out hoarsely, "I'm alright. Where—where am I?"

"We're in Orochimaru's lab," the blond boy says. "It's a long story. You should rest before I tell you." The boy grins and sticks his hand through the metal bars. "I'm Naruto, by the way. Uzumaki Naruto."

Sakura inches towards the side of her cell and hesitantly takes the boy's outstretched hand. It's warm, she muses, and it feels nice to have something anchoring her to this twisted reality. "My name is Haruno Sakura." There's something about this bright-eyed boy that she finds she can trust. He looks at her, open and honest, like a shining beam of hope in this dreary place.

"It's nice to meet you, Sakura-chan!" She smiles a little at this, because although this boy—Naruto—is covered in dirt and grime and the jail reeks of something metallic, she finds herself relaxing at his overwhelming presence.

"Keep your voice down," a voice snaps from the left. "You're going to attract attention to yourself again."

Sakura turns her head and is surprised to see another young boy her age sitting in the cell to the left. Unlike Naruto, this boy is hidden in the shadows, all dark hair and dark eyes. He's leaning against the wall with his arm propped up and he looks almost _bored_ despite being locked in a filthy cell.

"Um, hello," Sakura says, always polite because Mebuki always reinforced proper mannerisms when dealing with strangers, no matter the circumstance. She moves to the other side of her cell, away from Naruto, and sticks out her hand in greeting, mimicking Naruto's action.

The boy gives no sign of reciprocating; instead, he merely turns his head and looks at her. Sakura's green eyes widen in surprise as she gets a clearer look at his face—in comparison to Naruto, this boy is very pale, a stark contrast against his onyx eyes and jet black hair. He looks at her, stoic, blank, almost _cold;_ but she can't help musing that this is probably the most beautiful boy she's ever seen in her entire life. There's an air of tragedy that surrounds him—that seems to mature him, that seems to take him and place him in a different category than everybody else.

She can't help but to be intrigued.

"You should keep quiet," is all the boy says to her, his voice low and empty. His expression is guarded, but he observes her with intense scrutiny. "Orochimaru doesn't take a liking to talking or noise. You'd best stay quiet; it'll delay your testing until tomorrow."

Although the black-haired boy's voice is devoid of all emotion, Sakura detects a hint of disgust at the word 'testing'. She knows what tests are—math, English, science—she had them all the time in school, and she'd excelled at every single one. Mother used to tell her that she was definitely the smartest girl in the village; father went out and bought her a pretty new dress every time she brought home a test with a perfect score. But something nagging in her gut tells her that Orochimaru—who she assumes is the gray man—has a different type of test…one she may not excel in.

"Stop scaring her," Naruto says from his dark cell. "Don't be frightened, Sakura-chan. Sasuke's just full of angst all the time."

"Okay," Sakura says, uncertain. She turns her head to the quiet dark boy, and murmurs softly, "Thank you, Sasuke." It's polite to do so; and she has a feeling that although Naruto has good intentions on keeping her in the dark (for now), she finds something comforting in Sasuke's crass honesty.

He doesn't give her a sign of acknowledgement, but she still offers him a small smile.

* * *

 _The reality._

 _._

 _._

She finds out the reasons behind her kidnapping the next morning, before the bright sun has come up. It's whispered to her through the metal bars of her cell as she shifts uncomfortably on her hard futon.

"We're in Oto," a quiet voice says. She's surprised to see that it's Sasuke, hair ruffled and dark circles marring the skin under his eyes, speaking to her. He doesn't look at her, but continues, "Orochimaru's lab is here; and don't bother attempting to seek outside help. Nobody will help us. We've all been labelled as highly dangerous. You're not— _normal,_ as society would call it."

"That's silly," Sakura protests, now fully awake. "There's nothing special about me. I'm completely nor—" Her breath catches and her logic falls short as she remembers her leg—the bloody mess, the strange green glow, and the newly healed flesh in mere minutes. "How…"

"He knows," Sasuke says carelessly. "He knows where we're located, and the minute we show any sign of being _special,"_ Sasuke throws out the word with malice, "he swoops in and takes us. He has a network of people working under him that pose as doctors, etc. and collects all our personal information. We're brought here and experimented on, each and every one of us, for his personal research. Whatever you do, don't fight him today. He'll hurt you worse."

However, Sasuke's advice falls on deaf ears as the blood drains from the young rosette's already pale face when she registers Sasuke's words. _Experimented on?_ It sounds so casual, like a hobby, like an extracurricular activity you do for _fun._ Humans are not meant to be _experimented_ on _—_ they are not simple science projects like the baking soda and vinegar volcano she'd made back in first grade. She remembers the cuffs on Naruto's hands and shivers, a wave of panic tears threatening to spill. There must be a mistake, a fluke. She's just an average eight-year-old girl, she thinks, who plays with the neighbourhood kids. She loves dogs and thunderstorms and the game of hide-and-seek; she loves her parents, her brightly lit bedroom with her familiar white walls and comfy bed, and eating spicy tofu on cold days. She is _normal._

"No, I can't be here," she whispers in a daze. "I-I need to get out of here. I can't—"

"My, my, my Sasuke," a slimy voice interrupts, and Sakura's adrenaline is rushing through her veins as she sees Naruto bolt up from his deep slumber in the next cell; in the cells across from her, she sees girls and boys her age sitting up abruptly, the fear evident in the sudden tense atmosphere. Sasuke is the only one who sits composed, but Sakura sees the small tick of his jaw that this morning visit is unexpected.

"Scaring my new guest, I see." Golden, cruel eyes slide to her face, and Sakura squirms under his gaze uncomfortably, but glares back in defiance. An amused smile creeps up Orochimaru's face as he says smoothly, "Welcome, child. I hope you've rested well. We've got a busy morning ahead of us." He unlocks her cage door and grabs her arm, preventing her from running. Panicked and afraid, she jerks her arm and pushes him with the other, but to no avail.

"Let me _go_ ," she hisses, feeling the urge to bite his arm and tear his skin. She remembers her mother's tears and her father's desperation and she _fights,_ because she is _normal_ (as she convinces herself) and she doesn't want to be tested on. Her uncooperative nature only seems to make the gray man _angry._

"We've got a lot of energy this morning, don't we," he says, and the false pretence of a pleasant tone he'd been using is gone. In its place is sadistic brutality—his eyes glint and his long, snake-like tongue licks his lips in one quick motion. "I thought you'd be a good, quiet girl, but now you've just made me upset. Let's see how long you last."

"Don't touch her," Naruto snarls, hands grasping and pulling at the bars of the cell. Orochimaru merely smirks, and retrieving a small remote control device from his pocket, he sneers to the blond boy, "Are you sure you want to test my patience, boy?"

"I'll test it until the day I die," young boy hisses back, cerulean eyes full of bitter hatred. "You are a monster and I hope your death will be painful. You—" His speech gives out to a bloodcurdling scream as Orochimaru pushes a button on the remote. Instantly, the contraption around his stomach and the metal cuffs on each of Naruto's hands lights up, and the boy gasps in pain.

"You will not live long if you continue this," Orochimaru says, voice cold. Sakura wants to punch him, to kick him and _harm_ him, but her wide eyes are completely focused on the bright boy wheezing in pain from the attack. She wants to yell for help but her the words won't come. "Now, you," the gray man sneers, turning to Sakura, "will obey my orders, unless you want to turn out like _that._ "

Without another word, he pulls her out of the cell containing her and drags her down several dark hallways, only stopping in front of a heavy chestnut door.

The room itself looks normal, Sakura thinks, despite the deep indigo walls and the single wooden chair in the center of the room.

"Take a seat," Orochimaru says, voice dripping in honey. There's a smile on his face once again, and she can't help but to feel terror. He looks down at her, golden eyes flashing dangerously with something akin to _excitement,_ and she has a sense of déjà vu as she remembers Ami's bullying. She so desperately wants to scream at the top of her lungs until her throat is raw, to cry for help, to call her parents here—but they are gone, and she is so, so afraid so she complies, reluctantly.

It's only after she's forcefully tied to the chair and tools are pulled out does Sakura really _scream._

-x-

She limps back to her cell, hours later, body caked in blood and littered in small, barely visible scars and vacant eyes. Naruto is anxious with worry and continues questioning her, asking her if she's alright—and Sasuke simply stares, something unidentifiable in his deep eyes.

She doesn't speak; instead, she rolls over in her futon and pulls the thin blanket over her head—and she begins to hate herself.

* * *

 _The future._

 _._

 _._

3-4 years later.

.

.

The torture she undergoes continues for days turned weeks turned months turned _years_ —the length of the treatment depending on Orochimaru's mood. She has no sense of time, locked in the lab, but she knows she's probably around eleven or twelve now. It always feels like nighttime and they're never allowed outside. Kabuto—the glasses man, she comes to learn—lets them out into the 'social' room, once a day, where they can mingle with the other 'specimens', but most of the time they are wary of the words they speak.

Despite the immense amount of negativity, Sakura comes to appreciate one thing about staying in Orochimaru's lab—she's come to find some of the most interesting, most loyal friends she's ever had (she thinks bitterly: even compared to Ryuto; does he ever wonder where she went?). There's a girl her age named Yamanaka Ino that resides in the cell across from her that has incredible mental abilities; Nara Shikamaru, beside Ino, can manipulate shadows; Hyuuga Neji and Hyuuga Hinata, across from Naruto's cell, have special eyes that can see through objects. There's Chouji and Lee and Tenten and Kiba, all friendly and welcoming of her. To her, they're _normal._

She comes to learn that Naruto is one of the highly dangerous ones, hence the locks on his stomach and wrists. When triggered, he'd told her, he could kill anybody who got in his way. Sasuke's purpose for being here is revealed to her eventually, reluctantly—he, like the rest of his family, can manipulate fire; and they also have special eyes, like the elite Hyuuga's. _Sharingan,_ Sasuke had told her. They emerge when triggered by a stressful event, but Sasuke's hasn't been revealed yet.

Her abilities are revealed through Orochimaru's torture methods. She's slashed repeatedly with a knife; her mouth is cut wide with scissors. She's stabbed countless times, her fingers and toes burned, her bones snapped, her hair ripped from her skull.

Every time, she manages to heal herself—and every time she enters the room (or The Room, as she imagines the words in her mind, because this room is reserved specifically for her, because there needs to be an emphasis on the _pain_ ) she loses a bit of herself, too.

She teaches herself the basics of the human body and anatomy—she is grateful for her sharp memory and the anatomy books her mother used to keep in her office. As a small child, barely a year old, she would creep into her mother's office while Mebuki was working, pull the heavy, leather-bound books from the shelf, and hide in her bedroom, pondering over the pages in awe. What she used to love so much as a hobby has become something that she requires for survival—her injuries are no longer scraped knees but broken ribs and ripped muscles, and she must be able to control her abilities carefully, precisely, to prevent further damage.

Over time, she learns to gather her healing abilities in her hands, through strenuous control, so that every time Naruto comes back battered and bruised and nearly _dead,_ she can mend his shattered ribs and swollen eyes. She learns to heal others so when Sasuke comes back with bloody gashes down his back and black bruises blossoming across his beautiful skin, she can soothe his nasty injuries. She learns to focus under pressure and having that sense of _control,_ having that sense of reigning over something that used to be so foreign anchors her to sanity.

Sakura does what she can to help her friends, so they can make it through this together. And while she can mend their wounds, she can't _fix_ them—because she can't even fix herself.

-x-

Surprisingly (or maybe not, for she had always been a bright child), she finds love in the musty dark cells of Orochimaru's lab.

She doesn't fall in love with Uchiha Sasuke because of his beautiful onyx eyes and handsome features that make him look like a tragic hero in a movie. She doesn't fall in love with him because he passes her his dessert (a disgusting red bean cake that manages to taste slightly better when he gives it to her) every night through the metal bars separating them because he knows she loves sweets. She doesn't even fall in love with him because he is honest with her or the fact that he is reliable and protective of her.

No, she falls in love with him because of their late night talks, whispered through rusty metal bars in the dead of the night when the others are deep in sleep. It's funny, really, because she calls them _talks_ but in reality she is the one mostly speaking and Sasuke is the one listening, but he doesn't seem to mind. She tells him about her fear of creepy porcelain dolls and her dreams of becoming a doctor (maybe a surgeon); she tells him about her kind mother and her brilliant father; of her adventures with the old neighbourhood kids, about everything and nothing and all the things in between.

Sasuke always listens attentively, eyes focused on the ground as she speaks—one time she'd assumed he had fallen asleep, but when she'd stopped talking to observe him, he'd said sharply, "What?" She'd laughed it off, the ridiculous look on his face that made him look boyish again, like the happy little boy she'd sometimes imagine him to be had they not fallen into this situation.

She would speak, and he would listen. That's their arrangement, and she's content with that.

-x-

"He took my brother away from me," Sasuke says suddenly one night, voice low and tinged with an emotion she can't quite place. They're sitting in comfortable silence as Naruto snores loudly in the next cell and Sakura is picking at the hem of her plain black shirt absentmindedly.

Sakura's head snaps towards Sasuke, who is sitting in his usual posture, slouched and casual—but she knows Sasuke well enough now, knows the desperate boy underneath all the cold bitterness—and notices the tensing of his shoulders, the slight straightening of his back. She's surprised because the Uchiha boy usually hates sharing his personal matters, even with her. She'd assumed it was because Uchiha Sasuke was notoriously private, but he'd told her it was because his past was dark—dark enough to taint her.

But Sakura is no longer afraid— _how can you be, when you've been tortured until you're almost begging to die and your lungs feel as if they've been shredded and your mind is close to exploding_ — and doesn't even as much _flinch_ when Sasuke continues,

"Orochimaru took my older brother Itachi away when I was two years old. He was one of the greatest prodigies in our entire clan. The slimy bastard ended up massacring my entire clan on a surprise attack one day. Itachi was captured—but his Sharingan activated at the sight of the event—and he managed to escape, three weeks after he'd taught himself how to master it. They found him two week later, dead in a ditch due to injuries. He was seven."

"Oh," Sakura says, eyes glistening with tears. "Sasuke, that's—that's horrible."

"So I'm going to kill him," Sasuke all but snarls, voice hard. "I'm going to avenge what he did to my family, to my brother. He killed them. He killed _everyone._ "

And Sakura finally understands why this boy in front of her—this cold, pale boy with a constant bitter taste on his tongue—feels so much underneath his stoic posture. He is burning, suffering, shouldering a heavy burden all by himself. She wants to reach out, to wrap her arms around his tense body and tell him _it's okay, it's alright,_ but she can't—because she doesn't know if it will ever be alright, and the last thing she wants to do it lie to Sasuke.

Instead, she reaches her hand through the bars of the cell and grasps his cold hand in understanding. She doesn't need to say anything; Sasuke doesn't _need_ her to say anything as his fingers intertwine with hers and grips her hand firmly. He murmurs a soft, 'Thank you," and she feels the tears slide down her face silently as her heart crumbles for this broken boy in front of her.

 _What a strange way to fall in love,_ her heart whispers as she hits rock bottom. A quiet yawn escapes her lips as her eyelids slowly close, giving away to sleep.

They don't let go until morning.

* * *

 **note:** this was supposed to be chapter 2 for _wishing well_ , but it ended up going longer than expected (18 pages and counting!) so i figured i'd make it into a short chaptered story. this is also my first shot at horror and i'm not very good at it lolz-i took some inspiration from Kaneki's torture scene in _Tokyo Ghoul_ and what i remember from _AHS: Asylum_ but tell me what you think? a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed _wishing well_ , it really means a lot to me :)

love you.

-A


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